Rotten Fruit
by AryRiddle
Summary: Sansa and Sandor's son is the prince of Westeros, and he grows up to become just like his supposed father, Joffrey. AU one-shot where Sandor doesn't leave during the battle of Blackwater, Sansa marries Joffrey and becomes Queen, and the Purple Wedding never happens.


**My first try at a one-shot ever. I'm more used to long stories, so I don;t know how well I did on this but I hope you like it.**

**This is not beta'd, and English isn't my first language. I haven't really seen any mistakes but I wrote this in my phone so autocorrects might have changed something and I might have not seen it. If so please let me know.**

**I hope you like this! Enjoy!**

* * *

The Realm rejoiced, for the Queen had given birth to a son. The Seven Kingdoms had a new heir to the Iron Throne, and everyone was satisfied, even the King.

Ever since Sansa Stark had married King Joffrey Baratheon, the only thing that had been expected of her was to provide the Seven Kingdoms with an heir that would one day take his father's place and continue the line Baratheon for many years to come. Queen Sansa had been miserable since she married the King that she loathed, the man that had ordered her father's death and that had caused her mother and brother's death. But after the birth of her little Prince she was finally happy, for now she also had a reason to smile.

The little Prince took after her, with bright auburn hair. Everyone had expected another golden-haired boy like the King and his siblings and the rest of his family, but that hadn't been the case. The babe didn't inherit green eyes either, and instead his pupils were grey like the color sea after a storm, a cloudy sky, or of the cold steel. Northern eyes. Even though Joffrey had been satisfied with the news that his wife had given him a male heir, he was displeased with how he looked.

"He looks like a Tully and a Stark," he sneered, looking at the sleeping babe in his mother's eyes with an ice-cold expression. "He looks like your entire traitor family."

"He is your son, Your Grace," Sansa murmured, holding her newborn protectively in her arms. "Your noble blood runs through his veins. His looks are of little importance, for he will be a true lion when he is older."

"He better be," Joffrey hissed before leaving the room with not so much as another word to his wife or a look to his son.

The young Prince was named under the light of the Seven as Lyon Baratheon. It was a Lannister name; Sansa had wanted to name her son with a Northern family name but Joffrey forbade it. He would not have his heir carrying the name of a traitor, he said. He had ordered for the boy to be named with a traditional Lannister name, and Sansa had chosen that one.

Prince Lyon Baratheon... High lords and ladies bowed down to him and common folk cheered his name with joy in the Sept of Baelor. They prayed for their new Prince and bestowed good wishes to the child. Joffrey stood tall and proud while he saw the lords and ladies vow their loyalty to the new crown Prince, while Sansa just wanted the ceremony to be over so that she could retire to her bedchambers alone and care for her son in peace without no one disturbing her. She held the little Prince in her arms and had a polite and sweet smile in her face while she greeted all the highborns that came to her to meet Lyon and pay their respects to the King.

Behind the King and Queen, standing there in silence while he observed everything, was Sandor Clegane. As the sworn shield of the King and a member of his Kingsguard, the Hound had to attend the ceremony to fulfill his duty without complaint. He was finding it to be the second most difficult day of his life, the first one being the wedding day of the King and Queen. He had had to watch in silence then as well, just like he was doing that day. He had to shut his raging emotions while he watched Joffrey, that little shit, standing next to Sansa and presenting his son to the Realm.

Maybe it would have been less painful if Lyon had been a true Baratheon. But he wasn't. Joffrey wasn't his real father.

Sandor was.

Sandor and Sansa had confessed their true feelings for each other before her wedding to the King, shortly after her ten and eight nameday. After she wed the King and became Queen, Sansa started seeking Sandor in other ways rather than just stolen kisses and sweet caresses in dark corners. She had become his, completely his, in a way in which she would never belong to the King. Sansa had given herself to Sandor in both body and soul, opened herself to him and trusted him, and Sandor had found himself doing just the same. All his rage and anger faded away when he had the little bird in his arms, the world seeker and better and decent place when he called out her name and she whispered his name in his ear.

And now it was Joffrey the one that was displaying to the world the result of Sansa and Sandor's passion, believing him to be his trueborn heir. It made Sandor's blood boil. He saw red when Joffrey took the sleeping child in his arms for a brief moment, and he wished he could smash his skull in and run away from there with Sansa and their son, find a quiet place to settle down and leave their life in peace and quiet, away from court and danger and Lannisters and kings and queens and suffering.

It would be nice, but it wasn't possible. There was no escaping King's Landing. There was no escaping the Lannisters. Even if they managed to run away even to Essos, the Lannisters would follow them, find them, and kill them. No, there was no way out. The only option that both Sandor and Sansa had was to keep hiding in the shadows of the Red Keep, unable to ever be free to be together how they wanted to be, and for Joffrey to keep believing that Lyon was his son.

Sandor had to accept it. His son was to bear name Baratheon, be raised as a Lannister, and never know his true origins. His son was the Prince, and one day he would be the King.

* * *

He was able to be a father only for a few minutes that day, after Sansa became very tired and needed to leave and nurse the babe and Joffrey ordered Sandor to escort her back to her chambers in the Red Keep. They stayed in silence all the way from the Sept of Baelor to the castle, but once they were alone in an empty hallways close to her chambers and away from unwelcome eyes, Sandor couldn't resist it any longer and he kissed Sansa, all the time being careful not to hurt the little auburn-haired sleeping babe that rested in her arms. Sansa gasped surprised at first, but melted in his mouth a second later. Slowly they parted and locked their eyes on each other for a few moments until Sansa lowered her gaze, and Sandor did the same. They both looked at the small babe, who looked so sweet and peaceful and beautiful. Sandor still couldn't believe that such a beautiful creature could be his son, but then again, he was also Sansa's child. When the babe had his eyes closed it was like Sandor was looking at a tiny, male version of Sansa.

He caressed Lyon's sole strand of soft auburn hair, and smiled when the babe moved his little hands in his sleep. Sansa chuckled.

"Do you want to hold him?"

Sandor was terrified the first time that Sansa asked him that question. His eyes became wide open, and he gulped, not knowing what to say. He had killed men, fought in wars, been fearless his entire buggering life... and he was terrified of holding such a tiny baby in his arms!

"I don't want to hurt him," he had rasped, full of insecurity and mistrust towards himself. Surely a man such as himself wasn't fit to take such a delicate thing in his arms.

"You won't," Sansa assured him with a sweet smile, and then she put Lyon in his arms carefully. "You never hurt me."

Sandor had been petrified by few things in his life, but none of those occasions compared to how he felt when he held his son in his arms for the first time. He was so tiny, even more so in Sandor's huge arms, and so light and so... _fragile_.

Sandor had always been a man of little to no emotions, and those that he did feel always used to be dark and poisonous, feeling him with dark hatred. That changed when the little bird came into his life, and he allowed himself to feel love. When he held Lyon in his arms, he felt that emotions three times intensified.

He also felt the rage intensifying inside him at the same time. He felt envy of Joffrey, who now not only had the woman Sandor loved, but also his son. It was painful to think about it.

Lyon opened his eyes then, no longer asleep. Sansa smiled upon seeing him awake.

"Everybody believes that he has my father's eyes, like the Starks," she said, looking at the grey color of her son's eyes. "But in truth they are yours."

Sandor sighed, feeling truly defeated and devastated then.

"No one can ever know. He can never know."

* * *

And so Lyon had grown up as the Prince of Westeros, believing Joffrey to be his real father. Sandor was appointed by Joffrey as Lyon's sworn shield, and Sandor found himself doing again the same job that he had been doing for over half his life, just that this time it was much different. This time he wasn't just watching over the Prince, he was watching over his own son, the boy who didn't know that the huge man with the scarred face that served the King was his real father. Sandor always had to hold back from doing or saying anything that would betray him and reveal the truth. However, he always looked for opportunities to spend time with his child in a way that was safe. Mostly, that time consisted of teaching the boy how to fight.

Lyon was a sweet boy, just like his mother. At least, that had been the case in his younger and tender years. He would play with the other boys of his age at court, spend some time with his mother, attend lessons with the maesters, and then he was always excited to hold a wooden sword and have Sandor teach him some moves. Like Sansa, Lyon had a good heart. It was incredible how much he physically resembled his mother. His hair was a little bit darker than Sansa's, shinning red like fire in the light of the sun, and a few locks of hair fell over his eyes. His features were like porcelain and perfect, resembling Sansa a lot in that aspect as well. He was a tall boy for his age, but he was thin and elegant, a little Prince in all aspects. But his eyes... It always pained Sandor to see those eyes, so identical to his. For a long time he feared that people might discover the truth because of their steel grey color, but to his relief everybody still believed that it was the Stark color.

That always angered the King.

Joffrey was never particularly gentle to the boy. Lyon might be his heir, but Joffrey didn't know how to be a father because, adding to his own cruelty, he had never learned from his "father" Robert Baratheon how to be one. To Sandor it felt like he was watching history repeat itself, only that this time he was actually worried about the outcome. There was little he could do, though. He couldn't demand Joffrey to be a better and caring father to Lyon; he could just stand to the side and watch all the events unfold in front of him.

Joffrey didn't like the gentleness that Lyon possessed. He always said that gentleness was weakness, a feeling only fit for women. Every time that Lyon did something good or sweet, Joffrey scolded him and showed his disappointment and disgust until he made the boy cry. It wasn't long until Joffrey had a permanent effect on his heir...

Sandor would always remember how everything started. He was watching over Lyon while the little Prince, who at that moment was five years of age, played in the gardens of the Red Keep with other boys. Then suddenly Lyon ran towards Sandor, calling his name. Sandor frowned when he saw the look of distress in his son's face.

"What's wrong?" he asked, kneeling in front of the boy.

Lyon showed him then what he was holding in his little hands. It was a bird with a broken wing.

"Can you fix it?" Lyon asked him, with tears in his grey eyes.

Sandor sighed. In the past he would have laughed bitterly and said that he had no time to lose on such things, that it was stupid, and that it would be a mercy to break the bird's neck and give it a quick end. However, Sansa had softened him and at that moment he didn't have the heart to say such cruel words to his son.

"I don't know how," he admitted, and Lyon had almost cried. "But I'm sure that if you take the bird to your mother she will know what to do."

"What nonsense is this?" Joffrey had appeared at that moment in the gardens, and once again he looked at his heir with a disapproving glare. "Lyon, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to take the bird to Mother, so she can fix it!"

"No, you won't," Joffrey hissed. "A Prince does not save birds and foxes its wings. Leave him and come with me. It's time to make you a proper Prince. And stop crying!"

Lyon's tears disappeared, but he was still standing in front of Sandor with the bird in his hands, refusing to let it go and die. Joffrey grunted, irritated.

"Fine," he turned around and started walking away then. "If you choose to be a mewling weakling, then fine, do whatever you want."

And when the King was almost disappearing from view, Lyon dropped the bird to the ground and ran after his "father." He took his hand with an apologetic look, and Joffrey smiled, pleased. He told Sandor to have the day to himself because Lyon was going to spend the day with him, and the sworn shield had to watch as the King walked away with Lyon. He looked down at the broken bird lying defenseless and dying on the ground, and he was shocked that Lyon had dropped it just like that.

For some reason he decided to take the bird to Sansa, and explained what had happened. Sansa happily agreed to take care of the bird until it could fly again. Both she and Sandor believed that Lyon had acted the way he had because he felt pressured by Joffrey's words. It was normal, after all. Lyon believed that Joffrey was his father and he didn't want to disappoint him. Lyon, like any other child in the world, only wanted approval. Sansa and Sandor were sure that Lyon would be very happy when he discovered that his mother was healing the bird.

However, a couple days later Sansa was surprised by the boy's reaction when he found out about the bird. Sansa stared at her son in shock as he became angry when he saw the little animal, and listened with disbelief as Lyon shouted. Lyon never shouted. He was always a good boy, and polite and gentle, he never lost his temper like that!

"Why are you healing it?! You can't!" he shouted angrily. "Father didn't want me to heal the bird, he says that doing that would be a sign of weakness!"

"But Lyon, the poor animal would have died!" Sansa exclaimed, horrified by her son's current behavior. "You don't want the bird to die, do you?"

"Yes, I do," the child snapped, and Sansa gasped. Before she could say anything Lyon spoke again. "Father doesn't want the bird here, and I don't want it here. Give it to the cats, they must be hungry."

"But-but Lyon..."

"Do it! I command it, I am the Prince!" Lyon yelled.

After much insistence and threatening to call his "father" to complain to him, Sansa had to do as her young son asked. She gave the bird over to one of the servants and told her to do as Lyon commanded, and then she expected Lyon to feel sadness or guilt. However, hours and days passed, and Lyon showed no signs of regret over his behavior or his decision. Sansa told Sandor about the incident with the bird, and he too was shocked that Lyon had acted on such way. His shock soon went away after he realized what was wrong.

"Lyon is expending more and more time with Joffrey lately," he rasped, feeling angry and powerless. The realization that struck him angered him. "He has the king's attention now. Joffrey gives him lessons, lectures him, tells him what to do and what not to do, and... Little bird, you know how fucked up Joffrey's mind is. And Lyon has always craved his father's attention, and now he had it."

"He is not his father!"

"He doesn't know that," Sandor rasped bitterly. "Neither does the King."

Sansa realized then what Sandor was trying to say, what the change in their son meant, and became pale. She shook her head slowly, trying to deny what was undeniable, trying to ignore the truth that was in front of her. She couldn't, and she broke down in tears. No one was watching them, so it was safe for Sandor to try to comfort her; he took her in his arms, surrounding her small and fragile body in a protective way like he had done many times before. Sansa pressed her head against Sandor's chest and cried for a long time. She cried for what she was afraid was to come...

...And come it did.

It was well known that the rotten fruit spoils the other pieces that are in the same basket. Joffrey was the rotten fruit, and he spoiled Lyon, much to the horror of both Sandor and Sansa, who were powerless and unable to anything other than stand to the side and watch as the King slowly turned their young and innocent child over the years into the same monster that he was.

As Lyon grew up he became arrogant, selfish, spoiled, cruel... He was always by Joffrey's side, eager to do everything that the King did and eager to please him. Apart from Cersei, Lyon was the only other person that seemed to love Joffrey. He admired him, much to Sansa's sorrow. She didn't know any way of trying to explain to her son that Joffrey was a bad person without making angering the Prince and also the King, and Sandor couldn't say anything bad about Joffrey either if he didn't wish to be charged with treason and end up with his head on a pike.

Sansa couldn't understand what her son had seen in Joffrey to make him admire him so much. Was it really just because he craved the approval of the King? How could Joffrey have so much influence on Lyon, so much effect on his behavior...? It hurt her to see what Joffrey was doing with her child, how he was transforming the boy into something completely different of how he really was, into a person that was not her son. Her son had been good and sweet and caring. But as he aged, Lyon only became worse.

The Prince accompanied Joffrey everywhere, even to the meetings of the small council. When Lyon came of an age appropriate to start training as a king, ten and two, the only role model that he had was of the awful king that Joffrey was, but he believed that Joffrey was the best king that had ever ruled over Westeros. When Lyon learned about the War of Five Kings and about the death of his mother's entire family at the hands of Lannisters because of Joffrey, Sansa hoped than maybe then Lyon would understand how much pain Joffrey had brought to other people's lives. Instead, when she had asked him what he thought about Ned Stark's execution and the Red Wedding, her son's response was cold and clear.

"They deserved it," he murmured, looking straight into the eyes of his mother. The gaped, not able to believe what she was hearing. "They were traitors. I'm surprised you are not a traitor too."

"Lyon, those people were your family!" Sansa cried.

"Traitors," he hissed angrily. "I'm ashamed of being half Stark."

"_Lyon!_"

"Mother."

Sometimes, Sansa could see in Sandor's eyes how infuriated he became by his son's attitude, how much hatred he felt for Joffrey, and how much he wanted to put a stop to everything, to her suffering, to their child's corruption by Joffrey. Sometimes Sandor wished to slit Joffrey's throat, but the King was never alone anywhere, and there would always be a witness if Sandor became a kingslayer. Sansa knew that that didn't matter to Sandor, he would still slit Joffrey's throat no matter how many people were watching of that want stopping Lyon from becoming the terrible person that he was becoming. However, it was already too late, and both of them knew that Joffrey's death would only make things worse.

It was often that Sansa heard news about her sons mistreating other boys his age or younger; he acted just like Joffrey had at his age, ridiculing people for his own amusement just because he was the Prince, hurting them because he knew that he could get away with everything. That was what Joffrey was teaching him, that his title entitled him to do as he pleased with no fear of retribution. Soon Lyon was left with no friends, and even the servants were afraid of his temper, even more after Joffrey have him a Valyrian-steel sword for his ten and third nameday. He was always threatening those who displeased him, and not even his mother could soothe his temper anymore. While Lyon's actions provoked Sansa heartache, they always drew a smirk on Joffrey's face.

Lyon wasn't one to stay out of fights. He didn't just fight the ones weaker than him, like Joffrey had done, he fought everyone that he could, but he did make use of the advantage that being the Prince of Westeros gave him. Sandor was always trying to stop him from starting the fights with those who were weaker than he was, but it was of no use. Lyon didn't listen.

"I am the Prince, and you are nothing!" was his excuse for everything. "You can't give me orders, I can do as I like!"

_Sometimes he does look like Joffrey's son, rather than mine,_ Sandor thought, defeated.

By the time Lyon was almost a man, Sandor didn't see anymore a male version of Sansa with grey eyes. No, what he saw was Joffrey. Joffrey with auburn hair.

Sandor didn't know what hurt him more, seeing his only son acting like a hateful royal prick, or seeing his little bird suffer so much because of him.

He tried to help the boy, he really did. He tried to somehow, in any ways he could, be the father that he wished he could be and educate his son in a better way. Sandor wasn't the best man in the world, but he wasn't cruel, at least not in that way. He was a rough person, and he had been hateful in the past because circumstances had made him be like that, it was necessary for him to survive. But he wasn't cruel, and he knew what was right and what was wrong, and what Lyon was doing wasn't right. Sandor knew it wasn't right, just as he had known when Joffrey was a child that what he was doing wasn't right.

Joffrey kept his habit of executing and mutilating and painfully punishing for his own amusement and pleasure all those who went against him in any way, and those who even just slightly irritated him. Lyon was at his side during the executions, mutilations and tortures, and there was always wicked pleasure resent in his eyes. He enjoyed other people's suffering just as much as Joffrey did.

"We are better than them," Sandor had once heard Joffrey say to Lyon. "We can do with them as we please. We can hurt them as we please, because we are above them. They are scum, all of them, not only the commoners."

The day that Sansa and Joffrey got into a fight, as had been usual in court for the last two decades, was when Sandor knew that there was no going back with Lyon. As Joffrey slapped his mother mercilessly and had the rest of the Kingsguard beat her, as had been usual back in the days of the war with the North, Lyon just stood there, watching. His face was stone-hard and expressionless, and though there wasn't cruelty or any sign that he was enjoying what they were doing to his mother as he enjoyed when strangers or other people were beaten in front of his eyes, he didn't lift a finger to stop them or protect her. He just... watched.

Sandor hadn't been present when that happened. He had been sent away by Joffrey to take care of some affairs, but when he came back he found out everything.

He found a moment to visit Sansa in her chambers. He found her crying her eyes off. Her face was red and swollen from crying so much, and she almost couldn't breathe. Sandor took her in his arms once again, not knowing what else he could do to comfort her. He was enraged, boiling with anger. He wished he could undo all the damage that had been done.

"I'm going to do it, little bird," he rasped while Sansa cried on his shoulder.

"W-what...?" she sobbed, confused.

"It might be too late for Lyon. He's rotten, just as Joffrey is rotten too. I wish I had stopped it before, but I'm going to stop it now."

Yes, it was late for Lyon. He had turned I to Joffrey, and at the age of ten and seven there was little that could be done to stop it, but Sandor wasn't about to keep sitting around with his arms crossed and do nothing. Joffrey had some enough damage to his little bird already.

It took many fortnights, but he finally found his chance. "_The king had tripped"_, they said. "_It was an accident_", they believed. When Joffrey appeared smashed against the ground after having fallen from one of the bridges to his death, everyone believed that he had found death by himself. There had been peace for many years, no one suspected that King Joffrey had been murdered. No one one that Sandor Clegane had become a kingslayer. It was ironic; he had killed the King the same way that he had stopped Sansa from killing him all those years ago, when Joffrey took her to force her to watch her father's head. So many things would have been different if he hadn't seen her intentions, if he hadn't stopped her...

Joffrey had turned around to face Sandor just before the latter pushed him off the bridge. He had seen the anger and hatred in his sworn shield's eyes.

"Sandor, what are you doing?" he had asked, confused, when he saw that Sandor had approached him.

"You turned my son into a monster," Sandor had barked.

There had been understanding in Joffrey's eyes. Then rage as he looked upon Sandor's grey eyes, those eyes that were identical to the Prince's. during all that time Joffrey had believed that those eyes were inherited from the North, from Lyon's traitor Stark family. Now he knew the truth, the Prince had never been his, the same blood didn't run through their veins. There was also anger in Joffrey's eyes because deep down he had always known the truth, by he had chosen to ignore it, just as he had chosen to ignore that he himself wasn't a true Baratheon.

Then he had fallen to his death.

* * *

The Seven Kingdoms didn't mourn for its dead king. Why would they? Ever since Joffrey became King twenty-five years ago and started the war that tore the Realm into pieces, he had been one of the most hated kings in the history of Westeros. Many compared him to Mad King Aerys, believing him to be just as bad as the last Targaryen, and they all certainly believed that he had been ten times worse king than Robert Baratheon. King Robert had spent his days on the throne eating and drinking and whoring, but he didn't wish any bad upon the people. Joffrey, on the other hand, had spent his years as monarch torturing and executing and maiming both commoners and highborn, starting wars, and letting the Realm starve to death.

Not even the Lannisters missed him. They worse mourning clothes and attended the funeral out of respect, but nothing else. Some were even glad that he was finally gone, like his uncle Tyrion and probably his siblings Tommen and Myrcella, who had been bullied over the years by their older brother. The only one that shed desperate tears over Joffrey's body and cursed her pain was his mother Cersei, blinded with grief over her eldest son's death. The only other person that mourned, even though in a more silently way, the loss of Joffrey was Lyon. He didn't scream or cry or curse or anything of the sort, he was stronger than that and had been taught to hide his emotions to avoid appearing weak. But Sansa knew her son, and when she saw him standing in the Sept of Baelor in front of Joffrey's body, dressed in black and with a stone-cold expression on his hard face, she knew that he was grieving. He had worshiped the man he believed to be his father, after all. Lyon had always thought that Joffrey was an excellent king, a valiant man, and a great father. Lies. All lies. Joffrey had been none of those things, but Lyon was too blind to see.

_My poor, poor boy,_" she thought during the funeral while she watched her son. Then her eyes shifted to Joffrey's lifeless body. _What I wouldn't do to undo the wrong that you did to him. The wickedness that you planted inside his heart. The corruption that rot it and turned it into a dark, twisted form, just like you were..._

Lyon only discarded his black mourning colors for more colorful ones when the time for his coronation came. He stood in the Throne Room and sat proudly in the Iron Throne, now finally his, dressed in a golden silk doublet with a black stag embroidered on the chest, and had a black cloak hanging from his shoulders.

All the lords and ladies and members of his royal court had come to the Throne Room to swear loyalty to their new king. Sansa had mixed emotions as she watched her son standing there, looking magnificent and powerful wearing his golden stag anther crown, which had belonged to Joffrey and Robert before him. She saw Lyon sitting in the throne that had done so much wrong to all of them, the throne that had destroyed gotten her father killed and her brother after that and her uncle and grandfather before them, and that had torn the country apart and burned it to the ground in a war full of treason and fear and death and pain, and she silently prayed (hoping that she wouldn't prove herself to be a stupid and naive woman once again,) that things would change for the better from them on. Joffrey was gone, and maybe Lyon could go back to being the gentle and sweet and good-hearted person that he had once been as a little boy.

Sandor didn't have such hopes, he wasn't so naive. He could understand that the little bird would hope for that, though. Seven hells, he wished _he_ could be as naive as her and hope that Lyon could get better and have a new and fresh start! Sandor might be an old, ill-tempered and rough dog, but what kind of father would he be if he didn't wish something better for his only child?

However, he knew that Joffrey's influence ran too deep in Lyon's heart; it was now permanent. Lyon was now as rotten as the dead King had been. He just hoped Lyon wasn't worse king than Joffrey.

When the coronation was done Lyon stood up from the Iron Throne with a self-confident smirk on his handsome face, and looked down on all the people standing in Throne Room. He was now King.

"_All hail King Lyon Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Realm_!"

* * *

Things started off looking good, and for a while everyone thought that maybe there would be peace, and Lyon could be a good king after all. For some time Sansa could see glimpses of the boy that Lyon had once been, gentle and caring, and he really made an effort to be a good king. Without the constant presence of Joffrey by his side, getting evil notions into his head, Lyon acted like his true self a little bit for a while...

but that change for the better wasn't permanent, and Lyon reverted back to the person that he had been while Joffrey was still alive. It wasn't long after that before Lyon proved to be just as bad a king as Joffrey had been. Riots, starving commoners, unhappy highborns, conflicts between noble Houses and the crown, executions... Lyon abused of his power as king, which was exactly what he had learned from Joffrey. The Seven Kingdoms had been in relative peace for years, but Lyon was impatient and did not control his temper; he did as he pleased without thinking about the consequences. He didn't listen to the people who have him advice, not even to his mother, just as Joffrey hadn't listened to Cersei. Lyon was the king that his sole role model had taught him to be, and nothing that Sansa tried to do could change that. The king was stubborn.

"If you give them your love, they will return it," Sansa tried to explain to him one day when they were talking about the poor situation of the commoners. "Ever since I was very young I've seen kings rise and fall, and I've seen the role that other people have in their fate. If your people love you, they will defend you if need be when the time comes!"

"Love," Lyon scoffed mockingly. "You really are as stupid as Father usually said. A King has to be feared, not loved!"

"Your father..." Sansa started saying, but she stopped to take a deep breath, as she did almost every time that she had to refer of Joffrey as her son's supposed father, "wasn't feared, and neither was he respected. It was his grandfather Tywin whom the people feared. _He_ kept Joffrey on the throne and his head on his shoulders, until somebody got tired of him and killed him."

"_How dare you!_" Lyon shouted with his face red with rage. His fury was so sudden and explosive that Sansa had to take a few steps back. "My father was a great king!"

Sansa didn't cower in front of her son, not that time. She had already done that for many years in front of Joffrey and she wasn't willing to be a scared prisoner during her son's rule as well. She held her head high and started back at her son's grey eyes with firm determination.

"Joffrey was a scared little boy who didn't know how to properly wear his crown and thought that cutting heads off was being a king," she muttered.

"Mind your words, _Mother_!"

"Lyon, listen to me," Sansa insisted, not letting herself be silenced by her son's angry shouting. "Listen to me... I've lived through this before, I know his this story ends..."

She couldn't help it anymore and tears filled her blue eyes. Lyon looked at her confused, and then surprised as a lone tear ran down his mother's cheek.

"All kings have enemies... All kings have to face treason and hardships. But while a good king might have some enemies, a hated king will have a whole country against him. Yes, wars can come for either kind of king, and so does death, but for a hated king it is fated to come much sooner."

"I will show all traitors what fate lies ahead for them," Lyon hissed. "They'll feel the cold bite of steel in their necks."

"Lyon..."

"No, Mother."

"There is nothing wrong with having a gentle heart!" Sansa exclaimed, desperate to make him understand. "Why can't you just be like the boy you once were?"

"Gentleness is for the weak! I will not be a weak king!"

"You are not weak."

"Father said I was."

"Joffrey was wrong, he always was. A good heart gives you the ability to be just, to care for the well-being of those around you. It also gives you strength to defend the ones you love and courage to make the ones who hurt them pay."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that, during which Sansa observed her son, expecting a reaction from him, while he just stared towards the balcony. She waited and hoped that her words had had some positive and much-needed effect on Lyon.

But again, Lyon made a demonstration of his stubbornness and unwillingness to let go of Joffrey's teachings.

"Get out," he murmured. He spoke so lowly that Sansa barely heard him. "You want me to be like your brother. You think that he was better than my father… Well, perhaps he had a good heart and was loved by his people, but he was a fool and ended up defeated, butchered and dead. And my father, hated as he was, lived and ruled for more than two decades after that. I will be in the winning side, Mother, and I don't care whether you like it or not. _Now get out_."

Sansa knew that saying anything else would be useless, so she kept silent and left the King's chambers. Sandor was outside keeping guard in his duty as a member of the Kingsguard. He gave her a questioning look, wanting to know how the talk with their son had gone. Sansa shook her head, answering like that his silent question, and then she walked away and left Sandor alone and just as desperate as her. He knew just as well as her that that whole situation couldn't end well. The Seven Kingdoms wouldn't continue being peaceful with a king like that.

In the second year of Lyon's rule he became betrothed to a noble lady, a Tyrell of Highgarden, daughter of Lord Willas Tyrell. She was a beauty, sweet, and only a few years younger than Lyon. It was a very good betrothal; the Tyrells were a rich and powerful House that had aided House Lannister in the war years, and the girl, Lady Dahlia, would make a perfect Queen for Lyon and Westeros.

However, Lyon started mimicking Joffrey's behavior with Sansa, and it wasn't long before he started mistreating Dahlia. Word of his abuse reached the Reach, and a few weeks later the Tyrells presented themselves in the Red Keep in King's Landing, demanding to see the King.

It was Ser Loras Tyrell, Lady Dahlia's uncle, that came in front of Lyon to complain about the treatment that he heard that his niece was receiving. Lyon didn't even make an effort to even pretend to be listening to Loras's complaints. When the Knight of the Flower was done angrily demanding an explanation from his niece's betrothed, Lyon just shrugged and looked down at him from the Iron Throne with complete disinterest.

"I am the King," was all he said. His response seems to infuriate Ser Loras even further, which caused the concern of those present at court around him.

"What is that supposed to mean, Your Grace?" he asked, trying to contain the anger in his voice.

"You know what it means, Ser Loras. I am the King, and you are nothing more than a knight and a second son. You have no place coming here demanding explanations from me."

"Dahlia is my niece!" Ser Loras hissed, infuriated. "If you dare believe for a moment that I will stand aside and let you torture my niece the same way your mother was, you are very wrong!"

Lyon stood up from his throne all of a sudden.

"I am the King!" he repeated for the third time that day. "You are all beneath me! You don't have to allow me to do anything with your niece because I don't need you to! Your niece belongs to me! You all belong to me! The king can do as he likes!"

It was quite a spectacle that the court was witnessing that day. King Lyon opened his mouth and Joffrey's words would come pouring out of it. It was like the spirit of the dead king had possessed the body of that young man that looked like a male and you her version of Sansa Stark.

While anyone else would have become silent at the King's words for fear of awakening his anger, Loras Tyrell was not one to stay quiet. He was known for his short temper and quick acting, not minding the consequences, and at that moment, when it came to protecting his niece from the king, he didn't care about the consequences.

His squire tried to stop him, but it was too late.

"Bastard!" he shouted to Lyon.

Everyone in the room gasped, even Sandor and Sansa, who had been watching the events unfold without knowing how that would be ending. Lyon paled, turning as white as milk. His grey eyes, though, were burning with the most intense wrath that anyone had ever seen in him. He started shaking while shooting daggers at Ser Loras through his eyes, and his hands turned into fists so tight that his nails buried themselves in his skin.

"What have you said?" he hissed.

Everyone expected Ser Loras to say something else and pretend like everybody had heard wrong, but he did no such thing. He was no coward.

"Bastard," he repeated, louder and clearer this time so that there was no doubt of what he was saying to the king. There were cries of disbelief across the Throne Room. "That's what I said... _Your Grace. Bastard._"

"You dare insult my mother with your foul lies?!" Lyon shouted, and everyone looked at Sansa, who was pale like snow. Her eyes were wide with horror. What did Ser Loras know?

Much to her relief, Ser Loras shook his head and looked at her apologetically.

"No, I dare not do such thing. Forgive me, Your Grace, I am not questioning your honor, the fault lies not with you," then his eyes shifted again towards Lyon. "It lies with your father. He was a bastard, he was no true son of King Robert and everybody in Westeros knew it. The son of a bastard is a bastard. You have no right to the throne! You are no king!"

"Treason!" someone from the crowd shouted.

"Traitor!" echoed another voice.

"No one speaks like that to the King in the presence of the Kingsguard!" muttered a member of the Kingsguard, drawing his sword and pointing it towards Ser Loras.

_This is just like when my father accused Joffrey of not being the true king..._, Sansa thought full of dread, afraid of what could happen at any moment. She knew her son, she was not going to let Ser Loras unpunished for such a thing.

She was right.

"Arrest him!" Lyon commanded to the Kingsguard.

"He is no king!" Ser Loras insisted, now addressing everyone in the throne room. What he was doing was a complete stupidity and he was being a fool, but he did not care, he wasn't going to stop. "He isn't a true Baratheon, just as his father wasn't! He is not a good king because he is not meant to be one! Bastard! Bastard!"

"_You'll pay for this, Tyrell!_" Lyon shouted.

Ser Loras unsheathed his sword but before he could do anything, the members of the Kingsguard were already in him. He managed to fight some of them off, but he was outnumbered and ended up being defeated and dragged away from the throne room yelling enraged, demanding to have Lyon removed from the Iron Throne.

Sansa walked up to her son.

"Lyon don't do it," she begged him, but he had already made up his mind.

Two days later, Ser Loras Tyrell was executed, the same way that Ned Stark had been executed twenty-five years ago. One week later, the Reach declared war and rebelled against the king. The Lannisters immediately joined the war to help Lyon, but the Tyrells were aided by Dorne. The Vale and Stormlands stayed neutral, and the Riverlands and the North refused to join either side of the war. They would not help attack Lyon because he was part Stark and Tully through his mother, but they wouldn't save the son of Joffrey Baratheon. Sansa became desperate, seeing that her son's army was outnumbered by the combined forces of the Reach and Dorne, and no one wanted to help him. She didn't think that the Lannisters were going to able to win the war, not this time.

"Traitors!" Lyon yelled one time, after learning that a battle had been lost to the Tyrell army not far away from King's Landing. "After I win this war I'll have all their heads! I will put all the Tyrells on pikes over the walls of the Ref Keep! And the Martells too!"

"Do that, and you'll have the entire country at your throat," Sandor rasped. He was present in the room with Sansa and Lyon, he had been the one that brought the news of the defeat to the king. "They are staying neutral now, but they won't do that for much longer once you become a third version of the Mad King."

"No one asked for your opinion, Clegane!"

"I've lived through three wars, you need my opinion!"

"Listen to him, Lyon," Sansa said.

"No! I will crush them. What else can I do to this rebels and traitors?! They declared war to me, to _me_, _**their king!**_"

"You killed their Lord's brother!" Sandor barked, irritated with Lyon. "You had him executed like a pig without a fair trial! What did you expect the Tyrells to do after that?!"

"I am the King! No one insults me or my father and walks away unpunished! _No one_!"

"Ser Loras only spoke the truth, _Your Grace_!" Sandor rasped in a dangerous tone, and Sansa gasped. "A well known truth! He called Joffrey a bastard? Well, that was what he was, boy! I think it's time you realize who he really was. Not a stag, but a lion. He was a Lannister, not a Baratheon! And your ass is sitting on the throne only because half the country was slaughtered so that Joffrey could sit there before you!"

Sansa watched the confrontation between Sandor and Lyon without knowing what to do. That wasn't good. It wasn't good at all. Sandor was bad at holding his tongue when he became irritated, and there wasn't anything that irritated him more lately than his son, and now he had finally exploded. He had said almost the same thing that had gotten Ser Loras Tyrell executed, and she had no idea of what to expect of her son's reaction.

Lyon stared at Sandor with his grey eyes wide as plates, filled with shock and disbelief and anger upon hearing those words coming out of his most trusted member of his Kingsguard, the man he had known since he was a baby... Lyon was probably taking Sandor's words as treason and the worse insult possible.

"How dare you...?"

"I dare because it's the truth."

Lyon tried to protest, but the words wouldn't come out of his mouth. He didn't know what to say. Had it been anyone else saying those things, he would have reacted exactly the same way that he did when Ser Loras said that Joffrey was a bastard, but he couldn't react the same way to Sandor because everyone knew, including Lyon, that Sandor never told a lie. He always spoke with the truth and only the truth, no matter what it was.

Lyon became even more pale than he already was by nature and took a few steps back. He tried to speak a few times, but he couldn't. In the end he laughed under his breath a and shook his head.

"If what you are saying is true then... Then my father was a Lannister through and through. A complete and noble lion... And anyways, he won the Iron Throne, didn't he? The throne was his by right, he killed his enemies just like Robert Baratheon killed he Targaryens. I am the king."

"Lyon..." Sandor rasped more softly, trying, almost in vain, not to lose his patience.

"You will address me in a proper way, Clegane! I am your king, not your equal, you lowborn scum!"

Sansa lost it before Sandor did.

"Don't speak to your father in that way!" she exclaimed.

Two identical pairs of grey eyes looked at her with complete and horrified shock, and she realized her mistake. She gasped, horrified, and covered her mouth with her hand but it was too late: the truth had already slipped through her lips.

A heavy silence fell over all three of them. Sandor wasn't staring at her anymore, but Lyon was, and Sansa moved her eyes away to avoid his dark grey glare. Even though she wasn't looking at him anymore she could feel the weight of his eyes on her; she could feel his disbelief and his growing anger, which felt like a poisonous smoke that filled the room, choking all of them.

Lyon took a few steps towards her and Sansa still did not dare look at him, not until he stopped in front of her and took her chin with his hand, forcing her to look at him.

"Father?" he whispered, repeating the word that Sansa had just said moments ago. "Did I hear wrong, Mother?"

"Lyon, I-"

"I'm asking you a question. Did I hear wrong?"

There was really no point in denying it anymore. Too many years had passed with all of them living with a poisonous lie. Slowly she nodded, and Lyon let go of her chin. He turned around to stare at Sandor, who sighed and closed his eyes, feeling exhausted because of the revelation of the truth after so many years of lies. But then he opened his eyes again and stared directly and firmly at Lyon, and the young king gasped.

He could see the resemblance now, for the first time in all those years. He, like everyone else, had believed that his grey eyes came from the North, when in reality the exact same eyes had been looking at him since the day he was born. Looking at him from the burned face of Sandor Clegane.

He turned around, looking away from Sandor, and glared at his mother.

"How could you?!"

"I-"

"You betrayed Joffrey!" Lyon yelled. "Why?!"

Sansa didn't fail to notice that Lyon had referred of Joffrey by his name, and not as "Father." That change took her completely by surprise, but she chose not to point it out.

"I didn't love him. He hit me and killed my father, and his family had my mother and brother killed."

"So you ran to the Hound's arms like a common wench looking for some comfort?!"

"Don't speak to your mother-" Sandor rasped, trying to interfere, but Lyon cut him off mid-sentence.

"_Shut up_!"

"I love him!" Sansa cried, trying to make her son understand. "I love him, I always have! And he loves me too..."

"I should have both of you executed!" Lyon muttered between gritted teeth. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. "But I won't. Everybody would find out that I am really a bastard, and I would lose the Iron Throne. I would have my head chopped off in a matter of days!"

He turned then to stare back again at Sandor. Lyon pointed a finger at him in a menacing way.

"You... Are going to get out of the Red Keep. You are going to leave King's Landing... And you are never coming back. You hear me? _Never_."

Sandor frowned.

"Aren't you going to behead me?" he rasped, wondering why his son was being so merciful all of a sudden, and if it was all a trap.

"As much as I hate it, you have me my life," Lyon hissed with disgust. "So I'll spare yours just this time. If I ever see you again, your head will decorate the gates of King's Landing."

* * *

Sansa helped Sandor get everything that he needed to leave King's Landing and walked with him to the stables, where his horse was already ready for him. When they entered the stables Sansa stopped, grabbed Sandor by the tunic to pull him closer to her and kissed him full in the mouth. Sandor could taste the sorrow in her lips, and the salt of the tears she had she's during the night.

"Ride North," Sansa whispered when they pulled apart. "Go to Winterfell, you'll be safe there. Tell my brother that I sent you."

"Come with me," Sandor urged her. "I can keep you safe, I'll take you to Winterfell... You have nothing left here."

"I have my son," Sansa interrupted him. "Our son, Sandor. Help me save him. The North won't fight for a Lannister, but if you tell them that Lyon isn't Joffrey's son, that he has nothing of the lions in him, my brother will send his army. The Tyrells and the Martells want Lyon dead because of what he has done and what the Lannisters did years ago, but the north will help me get Lyon out of King's Landing _alive_. Then we can all go home, to Winterfell... You me, and Lyon. Please Sandor..."

"I can't leave you here."

"You _must_," she insisted. "I have to be with him while you are gone. But I need you to promise me that you will tell my brother the truth and you will help me save Lyon. _Sandor, please_..."

"Of course I will help you save him, Little Bird," he said. "The boy might be rotten because of the life that he has had here in this damn city, but don't forget that he is still my son, my pup. I will bring your brother's army, and then I'll take you both away from his seven-damned buggering city."

Sansa smiled and kissed him again. When Sandor left, ridding away in the middle of the night, he left her drowning in her own tears. She prayed to all the gods Old and New that Sandor would reach Winterfell safely, and that he would return in time to safe her son from the war and from himself.

Sandor spent almost a month traveling to the North. When he reached Winterfell he was exhausted, but he lost no time trying to recover and rest and instead demanded an immediate audience with the lord of Winterfell, Lord Brandon Stark. Sansa's younger brother listened patiently while Sandor explained everything about the truth of King Lyon's origins; that he wasn't a Baratheon, or a Lannister, but his own bastard son. The only blood that ran through Lyon's veins that mattered was that of his mother, he was half Stark, he was no part of the family that had slaughtered the wolves. After Sandor was done explaining everything, Bran agreed to go to war to save his nephew and take him away from the Iron Throne alive. The Starks were half Tully after all, and their words were "**_Family, Duty, Honor._**" Those words had to be honored, and the first one was **_Family_**. Lyon was family.

They marched South with an army, ready to defeat the Tyrells and Martells that wanted to harm the son of the sister of Lord Stark...

...But it was too late.

They were already almost two days past Harrenhal when they received the news from one of Lord Starks men. King's Landing had been attacked by surprise in the dark of the night, when they weren't expecting it. The citizens had been spared, but Baratheon army had been slaughtered.

"The King is dead," the man announced.

For Sandor, it felt like at that moment the entire world had suddenly crumbled down to ash around him and buried him alive. Few times had he felt like that in his life, probably none. The words saying that the king... his son... was dead were stuck in his head and he heard them over and over again. The pain that he felt was only equal to the physical pain that he had felt when he was burnt. It hurt even more than when his parents and his sister had died when he was young...

The voice of Bran Stark calling his life brought him back to reality, and he realized that he had been standing there petrified like a statue.

"Sansa..." he muttered before running towards his horse and quickly mounting him. He started galloping away from that place, not listening to the voices that called him from behind. He had to get to King's Landing immediately. His little bird needed him, and he had left her all alone.

* * *

When he arrived at the city he was surprised that a battle had taken place in there. Everything seemed so normal, so peaceful... King's Landing stank as always, was as filthy as always, and as noisy as always, and nothing gave away that the King was dead. The commoners did not care who sat in the Iron Throne as long as they were left alive and in peace, and Lyon had not been a good king.

Even though the Tyrells had won the war and defeated King Lyon, they allowed him to have a proper funeral. Lyon's body rested in the Sept of Baelor, where he was being honored before he was put away to eternal rest. Highborns and nights had gone to see the dead king one last time, but by the time Sandor arrived there thy were all gone... All except one person.

Sansa was standing there in the middle of the Sept of Baelor, all dressed in black, looking more dead than alive. The light had left her beautiful self and had left behind an empty shell, filled only with sorrow and pain. Everything that Sansa had endured over all those years was finally coming out of her, marking her skin and leaving scars on her.

She was standing next to the altar in which Lyon rested. He looked like he was asleep, with a peaceful expression on his face and his eyes closed forever. His hair covered his forehead and looked dark red under the candlelight. He was dressed like a king, in yellow and black colors. There was no sigil on his clothes this time, though, and for the first time it finally looked like he was dressed in Clegane colors instead of Baratheon. Sandor gulped. What he wouldn't have done to be able to see his son really dressed in his own colors and still alive...

Sandor didn't make a sound, and neither did he say anything as he approached Sansa and his son. He felt the words stuck in the back of his throat.

_I failed him, _he thought, feeling miserable. _I failed Sansa too... I promised her I would come back in time. I promised her I would save Lyon... I lied, it was too late..._

The sound of Sansa's voice startled him. Her voice had always been sweet and beautiful, no matter what she was going through. But now it was a sad, horrible, broken sound...

"We knew that you were coming, but they attacked us in the night..." she whispered. It seemed like it physically hurt her to speak. "He was a lot like Joffrey, but in his last moments he was a lot like you... He was brave... He went out and led the soldiers himself. He fought valiantly. And now he's gone, Sandor..."

Sandor reached her side and took her hand. Sansa didn't look at him, her eyes didn't leave her son's face. They were swollen and red and tired. She hadn't stopped crying, and she hadn't slept in days. She hadn't moved away from her son's side since they brought his body back to her.

"They want to bury him here, next to Joffrey..." she murmured bitterly. "I won't allow it. I won't ever let that man next to my son again, not even his bones. He brought this upon my poor Lyon, he taught him how to be like him... He took our son away from us, Sandor... _And now Lyon is gone forever_."

Her voice broke and she wasn't able to continue speaking. She broke down in tears and finally took her eyes away from Lyon, and buried her head in Sandor's chest and put her arms around him. Sandor hugged her protectively and kissed the top of her hair.

"I won't let that happen either," he promised. "I will take you and Lyon to Winterfell. I will take both of you home."

That was one promise that he could keep.


End file.
